Second Year – The Broomstick Incident
By the time second year rolled around, Hermione had learned to adapt to the rhythms of Hogwarts, even if some of those rhythms still threw her off. Her studies were, as always, top-notch, and she had made a handful of new friends—though, of course, it was still Ron and Harry who were the most constant companions in her life. But this year, there was a new challenge: flying.
Hermione was not a natural on a broomstick. Unlike Ron, who had at least grown up around the sport, and Harry, who had a natural flair for it, Hermione’s skills on a broom were, to put it kindly, lacking. She had done her best to avoid the whole flying business for as long as possible, but in second year, broomstick training was a required part of the curriculum for their Gryffindor classes.
It was on one particular afternoon, during a blustery lesson on the Quidditch pitch, that Hermione’s discomfort with flying came to a head. The wind was biting, and the sky was a murky gray. As she clutched her broom tightly, trying to maintain some semblance of control, her feet slipped. With a shriek, Hermione lost her balance, and before she could stop it, she was soaring uncontrollably toward the ground.
In that brief, terrifying moment, Hermione thought she might actually crash, but it wasn’t the fall that caused her to panic. It was the thought that she had failed. She had spent so much of her time being the best at everything, the one who excelled in every class, and here she was, unable to do something that everyone else seemed to do with such ease.
Hermione hit the ground with a loud thud, the wind knocked from her lungs. She lay there for a moment, stunned, trying to breathe as the sharp sting of humiliation settled in her chest.
“Oi! Hermione, you alright?” Ron’s voice came from above her, and she looked up to see him hovering on his broom, concern written all over his face.
“I—I’m fine,” she stammered, sitting up slowly, though her face burned with embarrassment.
“Really?” Ron asked, his voice softer than she expected. He dismounted his broom, kneeling beside her. “You sure?”
“I’m fine,” Hermione repeated, trying to mask the tears that were threatening to spill. “I’m just... not good at this. I’ll just... stay out of the way.”
Ron’s brow furrowed. “You don’t have to stay out of the way. Everyone has trouble when they start. It’s not the end of the world.”
Hermione sniffed, wiping at her face. “I’ve never failed at anything before, Ron. It’s just so... so embarrassing.”
Ron sat beside her in the grass, lowering his broom. “You’re allowed to fail sometimes. Doesn’t mean you’re any less of a person. I know you’re good at a lot of things, Hermione, but no one’s good at everything right off the bat.”
She looked at him, her face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude. Ron, the boy who had never been the most academic or the most popular, was somehow managing to make her feel better. He wasn’t mocking her like she feared others might. He wasn’t making a joke out of it. He was just... there. And that was enough.
Ron stood up, offering her his hand. “Come on, let’s try again. I’ll help you, if you want.”
“I don’t want to hold you back,” Hermione muttered, still feeling unsure.
“You won’t. Trust me, I’m not exactly a Quidditch star. We’ll learn together, yeah?” he said, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
With his encouragement, Hermione took his hand, and for the first time that afternoon, she felt something other than frustration. She felt... supported. In that moment, Ron wasn’t just the boy who had sat beside her in classes. He was a friend who, without hesitation, was willing to step in when she needed help.